A Matter of Honor
by MissVan2003
Summary: Response to KPrescott's challenge. Grissom and Sara investigate a seppuku in a Vegas hotel.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters who appear on CSI. Don't sue me, please.  
  
"You'll never believe this one," Jim Brass said.  
"Try us," Gil Grissom returned. "This is Vegas, Jim. Sin City. We've seen everything, we've heard everything, you get the picture. I don't think there's anything that could shock any of us."  
"Oh, I'm not entirely sure about that, you guys. Come with me," the homicide detective said.  
"This better be good," Sara Sidle said, following two paces behind Grissom and Brass.  
"I'm not sure if good would be the word," Brass said as they reached room 395 of the Sphere. "You two get first dibs."  
Grissom and Sara entered to find a man lying on the floor, a cut through his abdomen and his head lying neatly nearby. Sara swallowed audibly, and even Grissom felt like gagging. Brass, who was standing near the door, was deathly pale.  
"Seppuku," Grissom said flatly.  
"What?" Brass asked.  
"Ritual suicide," Sara put in. "It's a way to restore honor. You can either do what our guy did and have someone cut your head off after you do the deed or you can cut your gut open and not have your head cut off. Either way it sounds ugly."  
"So what's our guy doing in Vegas anyway?" Brass asked. "Besides this."  
Sara looked up from an open notebook on the bed. "Gambling. He's been keeping track of his wins and losses. He's also been keeping track of his...uh, gambling buddies. Last night he went to the Beachcomber, the Parisian and the Oasis Towers."  
"Who was there?"  
"Dave Chapin, Tara Woods, and Nicole Harris. Our guy lost five hundred dollars at the Beachcomber, six hundred dollars at the Parisian, and seven hundred at the Oasis Towers," Grissom reported.  
Brass whistled. "Damn."  
The investigators were interrupted by a loud voice from the doorway.  
"Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in here?" 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to KPrescott for the challenge.  
  
"I'm Gil Grissom. This is Sara Sidle. We're from the crime lab. This is Jim Brass, homicide detective with the LAPD. Who are you?"  
  
"I'm Tara Woods. What happened to Michael?"  
  
"Michael?" Sara asked while taking pictures of the scene.  
  
"Michael Coulter. He was a photographer. So are Dave, Nicole and I," Tara said.  
  
"What were you doing in Vegas?" Brass asked as Sara slipped into the bathroom and Grissom started collecting evidence.  
  
"It's an odd way to celebrate, I know, but we were gambling. It was a weeklong deal. I mean, you don't tell your friends that you went to Vegas to see the sights," Tara commented.  
  
"Celebrating what?" Grissom asked.  
  
"Michael and Nicole were up for an award. Nic took an impressive picture of two Masai children, and Michael took this sunrise picture in Egypt. Well, Nic ends up winning this award and Michael decides that we're going to Vegas."  
  
"Hmm," Grissom said.  
  
"I thought that maybe he was feeling sore, but he was doing really well in the casinos."  
  
"Until last night." Brass said. "Did Michael tell you how much money he'd lost?"  
  
"No, but you really can't keep that sort of thing a secret. You'll give it away eventually, no matter how hard you try to hide it. I knew he wasn't doing well, but I didn't know how much he'd lost."  
  
"Then this will interest you. At the Beachcomber he lost five hundred dollars, at the Parisian he lost six hundred dollars, and at the Oasis Towers he lost seven hundred dollars."  
  
Tara looked from Brass to Grissom to the open bathroom door where Sara was. "And he died because of that?"  
  
"Do you know what seppuku is?" Grissom asked.  
  
"Dave was telling us about it our first night here," Tara said. "You slice your gut open with a sword. It's a painful way to go. Of course you can have a friend cut your head off after you do the deed. Either way you get your honor back. He said that he learned about it from some Japanese girl he photographed last month."  
  
Brass frowned. "Hold it. You're saying that Michael somehow thought that this loss of money meant a loss of honor? Gruesome."  
  
Tara nodded. "And the way to regain your honor is to kill yourself."  
  
"Grissom, there's nothing in here," Sara said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.  
  
"How long are you staying in Vegas?" Brass asked.  
  
"As long as I can. I'd be more than willing to help."  
  
"Good," Grissom said.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
Dave Chapin looked at the three investigators. "You have to be kidding me, right?"  
  
Sara shook her head. "We aren't kidding, Mr. Chapin."  
  
"He's dead, huh?"  
  
"Yes," Grissom said.  
  
"How did it happen?"  
  
"Does the word seppuku ring a bell?" Brass asked.  
  
"Oh, God. I was talking about that earlier in the week. We were showing off some of our pictures, and Michael asked me about the picture I took near Kyoto. I found a young girl there who claimed she was descended from a samurai who committed seppuku, and she had a family tree or something like that to prove it. She told me all about the procedure, and I told them about it. Michael was impressed, I'll give him that much."  
  
"Why were you in Vegas, besides gambling and reminiscing?" Sara asked.  
  
"It was a photography award. Nicole's entry was a candid picture of two Masai children laughing, and Michael's entry was a sunrise photo. Nicole ended up winning, and we decided to celebrate by hitting some casinos. The first few days we were all doing well. We won some, we lost some, but all in all we were doing well. Then the last day Michael's luck just ran out. He starts cursing up a storm which is most unlike him."  
  
"Did something else happen?" Grissom asked.  
  
"We had just come back from the Oasis Towers when Michael asks me if I have a sword in my room. It should have told me something was wrong, but I didn't figure it out." 


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't blame yourself," Grissom said kindly. "You didn't know."  
  
"I should have known. That's just it. I should have known when he asked. I should have known."  
  
Sara's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"  
  
"What did you tell him?" Brass asked.  
  
"The truth. I don't have a sword in my room. Come on, would I be that stupid?" Chapin looked insulted.  
  
Grissom and Sara exchanged glances. "We'll let the evidence be the judge," they said in unison.  
  
Brass smiled. "Good idea. Sara, why don't you go to the lab, try to make sense of this? Gil or I will contact you if we find something interesting."  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
Dr. Albert Robbins looked up when Sara arrived in the morgue. "I heard you and Gil have got an interesting case."  
  
"Greg and Jacqui were saying the same thing earlier," Sara said. "Word spreads fast around here." She looked at the corpse, now covered with a sheet.  
  
"Well, I know this much. Your guy was murdered. The cause of death was decapitation. But there is something curious here." The coroner folded back the sheet far enough to reveal the cut in Coulter's abdomen. "What do you make of this, Sara? The wound is clean. There are no hesitation marks. It could be post-mortem."  
  
Sara looked at the wound again, marveling at how an injury can look more disgusting under bright lighting in the morgue. She gently probed the intact skin around the wound before probing the wound itself. "Suicide," she murmured.  
  
Robbins looked up. "You mean murder, don't you?"  
  
"If I say suicide, I mean suicide," Sara said. "More specifically, seppuku."  
  
"Hold it, Sara." Robbins held up one hand. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"It's traditional ritual suicide. There's an ancient version where you just slice your gut open, and there's a modern version where you slice your gut open and a friend decapitates you."  
  
"Whoa, what's the point of that?"  
  
"Honor." Sara cradled the lifeless hand of Michael Coulter in her own. "Why would anyone do such a thing, Albert?"  
  
"Don't misunderstand me, Sara. I respect you. I trust your judgment. But this.this screams murder. I can't think of any other explanation. Michael Coulter was murdered. He didn't commit suicide." Robbins tapped one finger against the table.  
  
Sara's cell phone rang, breaking the brief moment of silence. "Sidle." She stepped back and watched Michael's hand fall back where it was.  
  
"It's Grissom. Where are you?"  
  
"In the morgue."  
  
"Did you find anything?" Grissom asked.  
  
"Just that Dr. Robbins believes our guy was murdered. What did you find out?"  
  
"We're taking them in. Actually, Brass is taking them in. We found the sword."  
  
"Great," Sara said. "Any new information?"  
  
"According to Nicole, Dave lied about not having a sword in his room and Tara lied about not knowing how much Mr. Coulter lost. Plus, I think there's something else going on that nobody wants to discuss."  
  
Sara cursed under her breath. "So Dave had a sword in his room, everyone knew that Michael wasn't doing so well in the casinos, and you think there's something else going on? Thanks a lot," she said.  
  
"No problem," Grissom said. "Meet us at the interrogation rooms, okay?"  
  
"I'll be there." Sara ended the call. "I hope they won't be springing anything on me."  
  
"Did something happen?"  
  
Sara shrugged. "They found the weapon. Brass is bringing Tara, Dave, and Nicole in for questioning. Grissom's got a hunch that they aren't telling the whole truth."  
  
The coroner smiled slightly. "I thought Grissom followed evidence and not hunches."  
  
"Yeah, so did I." Sara looked at the corpse on the table.  
  
"I'll page you when I get results, okay?" Robbins asked.  
  
"You always do," Sara returned, patting the coroner on the shoulder. "Look, I have to go. Don't want to miss my appointment." She hurried out of the morgue, removed the scrubs, and made her way to the interrogation rooms. 


	4. Chapter 4

"Damn," Sara muttered as she made her way to the interrogation rooms. Brass was waiting outside.  
  
"Whoa, what's wrong?" Brass asked.  
  
"I just left the morgue. Robbins says it's homicide."  
  
"It's a doozy," Brass said. "They're all denying up one side and down the other."  
  
Sara groaned. "Great."  
  
Brass patted Sara's shoulder reassuringly before leading her into one of the rooms.  
  
"Come on, Nicole. What else happened?" O'Reilly prodded as Sara slid into an empty chair.  
  
"I'm telling you, I don't know."  
  
"Something else happened, didn't it?"  
  
Nicole looked from the detective to the criminalist. "He deserved what he got," she said, her voice low. "But I swear to God I didn't kill him."  
  
"What happened, Nicole?" Sara asked, trying to sound nonchalant.  
  
"He was bragging about how his picture was going to win the grand prize. So he climbed a pyramid to take a picture of a sunrise. Big deal."  
  
Sara and O'Reilly exchanged glances.  
  
"And you ended up winning," Sara said.  
  
"Yes." Nicole swallowed. "I did." She looked at her clasped hands. "And Michael looked like the wind had gone out of his sails. So I suggested that we go and hit the casinos."  
  
"What happened then?" O'Reilly asked.  
  
"We were doing well. It was like the old days, you know? Michael and Dave were cracking jokes, and Tara and I were gossiping. I almost forgot what happened earlier. Then Michael's luck just turned. He started losing. And when we left the Oasis Towers, he..."  
  
"He what?"  
  
"He started acting odd. And then, outside the hotel, he said something that scared me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He asked Dave if he had a sword in his room. I wasn't expecting it, you know?"  
  
"What were you expecting?"  
  
Nicole smiled sadly. "I thought he'd ask if we wanted to drink a toast. I wasn't expecting him to ask if Dave had a sword."  
  
"But he did."  
  
"I asked him what he was thinking. What would it do to his family, his friends? And he told me that he had stained his honor and that he had to remedy the situation. "  
  
Sara instinctively reached for her cell phone.  
  
"Later that night, we met in Tara's room for drinks and conversation. And I went to bed shortly after. I didn't know until the morning after."  
  
Sara dialed the morgue number.  
  
"Robbins," the familiar voice said.  
  
"It's Sara. Is Grissom in there?"  
  
"Yes," the coroner said.  
  
"I'm coming down. I think we might have something."  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
"And she said that she didn't find out until the morning after," Sara concluded. "But something's not right, Grissom. She heard Michael ask Dave if he had a sword in his room. She had to have known what he was planning to do."  
  
"What are you getting at, Sara?"  
  
"Think about it, Grissom. Say I'm bummed over getting rejected for some position. Say I ask you if there's a knife in the breakroom. Say you just go back to your townhouse and don't check to see if I'm okay. What's wrong with this picture?"  
  
"I don't follow," Grissom said.  
  
"I just gave you the answer. Nicole met the others for drinks, right? What did she do afterwards?"  
  
"She went back to her hotel room and slept."  
  
"Exactly, Grissom. She went back to her hotel room. Doesn't that sound just a little fishy to you?" 


End file.
